The Bird in the Eaves
by Ironi Numair
Summary: AU. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, Albert and Hilda Heinrich moved to New York to start a new life. An unexpected part of that new life is Jet Link, who lives in their attic. Snippets of their daily life.
1. Chapter 1

The sauce had to be perfect, Hilda would not accept otherwise.

She would like to say that it was her mother's recipe, or some other form of familial authenticity that would give it ageless credential, but the truth was that she'd stumbled upon this particular combination by accident when she and Albert had first come to the United States and she'd been determined to add American dishes to their diet. By the name alone she'd first mistaken it for Italian, and didn't that just sum up American food in general. Always disguised as something else if you couldn't eat it at a ball game. She gave the sauce another taste and went to add the chicken she'd diced earlier.

A hand wandered into her field of vision and reached for the spoon. Hilda gave it a good slap.

"Ow," Albert whined, retracting his hand, "What was that for?"

"No tasting the food before it's done," Hilda said firmly.

"You just did."

"I'm the chef."

"But I'm hungry," Albert then made the saddest face he could manage which, Hilda had to admit, was pretty potent.

"You can wait." She turned away from him and tried to ignore how close he'd moved into her space, almost pressing against her.

"Come on, just a nibble," Albert whispered, his lips brushing against her neck.

The front door at the other end of the house opened and slammed shut. Albert's shoulders slumped and he groaned in disappointment.

"Boots off," Hilda said.

"Boots off!" Albert shouted loud enough for their noisy tenant to hear.

"Boots off!" Jet echoed, followed by the muffled thump of heavy, wet boots being cast aside. The Heinrichs weren't normally so insistent on the removal of shoes before entering their home, but Jet had the habit of cutting through the park on his way back and it had been raining the last several days. Mud on the floor was something Albert did not tolerate.

Jet poked his head in the kitchen entryway, still wearing his rain gear with the exception of the boots. He held up a plastic bag.

"I got the eggs for you, Hilda."

"Thank you, sweetie. It's nice that _someone_ helps with the groceries around here."

"I forgot _once_ ," Albert groused, leaning against the counter, "You're home late, Jet, where've you been?"

"Getting eggs," Jet said slowly as he slid the carton into the fridge. At Albert's exasperated glare he shrugged. "Around. First I was there," he pointed west, "then I was over there," he pointed east, "and now I'm here."

"So informative."

"That's me, mister information." Jet paused and took a few sniffs, his long nose in the air, "Is that…Is that chicken tetrazzini?"

Hilda smiled at him, "It is."

Jet peered over her shoulder, "Oh wow, that looks great!"

"Good, I'm making it for you so you'd better like it."

Hilda yelped as Jet wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and spun her. "Hildaaa you are wonderful! Ditch that loser and run away with me!"

"What? To the room you rent in our attic?"

"I was thinking somewhere more exotic but whatever you want, babe."

Albert sighed. "Knock it off, Jet. You make her too dizzy and she won't finish dinner."

Jet chuckled and set Hilda back on her feet, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Look at him, no sense of fun. You deserve better. He's _old_ and _stuffy_."

"And you're young and sexually inexperienced," Albert said with a smirk.

Jet snorted, "Yeah, you keep thinking that, Heinrich."

Hilda tapped Jet's hands and he released her. "How about whoever isn't helping me make dinner get out of my kitchen? Jet, go get out of those wet clothes already."

Jet pouted, his expression almost as potent as Albert's. "But they're warm."

"Then put on a dry sweater. Shoo!"

"Fine," Jet said and walked out of the kitchen, hands in his pockets and shooting Albert a glare. "I'm watching you," he hissed as he left, leaving a heavy silence in his wake save the clattering of cooking utensils.

"Oh god," Albert sighed, dropping his head back, "I don't know about you but I've lost any desire to ever have children."

"You're the one who brought him home," Hilda laughed. She turned down her mouth, imitating Albert's sad face as best she could, "'But Hilda,'" she whined, "'he's got nowhere to go and it's a blizzard outside!'"

"Well it was!" he argued, "And I don't think you'd love me half as much if I was the type of guy to let a teenager die of exposure out in the snow."

"I wouldn't love you at all."

"There you go."

Still, to say Hilda hadn't been thrilled when Albert plopped a shivering Jet onto their couch last winter was an understatement, despite Albert's assurances that he knew Jet from back when he worked with the circus. Apparently Jet had been a regular feature there and he and Albert had smoked a cigarette or two together. Last winter had been a horribly cold one and Jet admitted that his usual emergency hole-up points had been inaccessible. The snow was so bad that the bus lines had been closed down, denying Jet both a warm place to sleep and a way to the subway lines for the same. The old neighborhood church he often used had been torn down that summer. Albert found him hunkered down beside some steps, wearing nothing but street clothes and a windbreaker, shivering and ready to break the window into a restaurant basement.

They made a bed for him on the couch and Albert said nothing when Hilda locked their bedroom door that night. In the end, it was she who suggested Jet use the empty space in their attic and the three of them worked out his rent. How he paid it neither she nor Albert asked because she was certain they wouldn't like the answer.

Long ago Albert had suggested they get a dog and Hilda turned down the idea. Instead he brought home a Jet. Lesson learned.

She couldn't complain too much; it was nice to have two men around the house. Hilda always considered herself handy enough, but sometimes it was more fun just to make some sad, waifish noise and watch them come running. Fixing the roof had gone by much faster with two sets of hands, though it would have been quicker if they hadn't spent so much time arguing. But when they weren't arguing, Albert displayed a protective nature akin to that of an older brother towards Jet and Hilda often had to remind him that Jet was an adult and didn't need a babysitter, otherwise she found it quite endearing.

Finished with the preparations, Hilda slid the tetrazzini into the oven to bake.

"You done?" Albert asked.

"For now." She wiped off her hands with the dishtowel, more out of habit than anything.

"So, now what?"

"Hmm, I believe you were about to indulge yourself a free nibble?" Hilda suggested, leaning herself towards her husband.

"Yeah, but you know the minute I do anything Jet's going to come barging in."

"Let him."

Albert blinked, his face comically blank before it stretched into a wide grin. "Well, I've never been above giving a little show," he said, and pulled Hilda close.

"Hey guys have you seen my black hoodie and…aw man, really?"


	2. The Name Game

Hilda was curious. After all, 'Jet' was a unique name, even by American standards, and she couldn't help but ask their tenant about it one night over dinner.

"It's a nickname," he said, "Some of the kids started it back in school, you know, when I actually went."

That really piqued her interest. "So it's not your real name?"

"Of course not," he said it like it was the most distasteful idea he'd ever heard, "My mom named me. Was pretty much the only thing she did for me before she took off." There was a finality in his tone at the mention of his mother. Jet's home life prior to living on the streets was not something he discussed often, not unless there were drugs or alcohol in his system and Albert had put an end to _that_ , at least in the house.

"What's your real name?"

"If I wanted people to know, I'd still be using it."

"You won't tell me?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"Hilda," Albert chided, bored with the conversation.

"Hush. What if I guessed?"

Jet shrugged. "Fine."

Hilda cracked her knuckles, preparing for the challenge. "Can I get a hint?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Oh come on, more fun that way! Does it start with the same letter as your name? With a 'J'?"

Jet stuffed a large bite of scalloped potatoes in his mouth and chewed slowly, considering. He swallowed. "Sure, why the hell not. Yes."

Hilda was delighted. "Hmm, let's see. Is it John?"

"No."

"Jacob?"

"No."

"Jingleheimer Schmidt."

"Albert!"

"What?"

* * *

Hilda ran out of names and the game petered out by the end of dinner, but didn't end completely. Throughout the next day she threw names at Jet as she thought of them.

"Justin."

"No."

"Jethro."

"Do I _look_ like a hick?"

By the end of the week she'd run out of traditionally 'American' names and was branching out towards European ones.

"Julian," she said one day in passing as she carried the laundry downstairs.

"No."

She poked her head out of the bedroom as Jet pulled down the attic stairs. "Jacopo."

"What? No! What the hell is that?"

"Johann," she called from the den.

"That doesn't even start with a 'J'!"

Somewhere in the house Albert dropped his head in his hands and sighed.

* * *

The game finally seemed to end, much to Albert's relief, but Hilda had still not managed to guess Jet's name. The truth was, for all her smiles and gentle demeanor, Hilda was not a graceful loser and refused to give up. The game was not over, merely stretched out over time. The months passed and Hilda's guesses grew so infrequent that half the time Jet didn't know what she was talking about and had to be reminded.

"Joseph."

Jet and Albert looked up from their breakfast.

"Is that your real name?" she added at the sight of their confused faces.

"Oh, we're still doing that? Nope."

"You already guessed that," Albert said, voice flat, "A long time ago."

Hilda stuck her tongue out at her husband. "If you're keeping track then you should help me out."

"Fine. How about Jedidiah?"

"You're not playing," Jet snapped at him.

"Is it Jedidiah?" Hilda asked, eyes brightening at Jet's sudden avoidance.

"Not even close."

Albert cursed. This was going to go on forever.

* * *

Christmas was tight that year for all of them. Jet did his best to pay rent on time but had little afterwards and apologized that his gifts for Albert and Hilda wouldn't be that great.

"Don't worry about it," Hilda told him.

"You don't have to get us anything, we're really not that big on Christmas," Albert said as he put a star on top of the tree. Jet rolled his eyes.

Regardless their assurances, Jet was determined. The last time he'd given anyone a Christmas present was when he made a paper mache picture frame in school for his father with a photo of himself inside. Albert and Hilda were more than his landlords but also his friends who'd made him feel more like family than his father ever had.

Christmas Eve rolled around and Jet pulled on multiple sweaters (two of which were Albert's) in preparation of the New York cold. On one hand, business dropped around the holidays as people had a sudden desire to be decent and spurned him, on the other, all the lonely and desperate people sought him out for a temporary fix to their problems. Holiday schmoliday, he had money to make.

"I should be back by morning," he called, looking through Albert's hats for a good one to swipe, "but if not don't wait for me or nothin', Christmas isn't really my thing."

"Wait!" Hilda hurried from the kitchen, Albert behind her and a bundle in her arms, "Here, before you go," she thrust the bundle into Jet's hands, "Merry Christmas."

It was a coat, hooded and olive green that hung down just above Jet's knees. He threw it on and found it delightfully heavy. "It fits!" he said in amazement.

"Good, I was worried. But I thought you'd need it before you went out all night," Hilda explained.

"Hildaaaa!" Jet scooped her up into a big hug, "Thank you! I love it."

"I helped, you know," Albert said with a wry smirk.

"Sure, but I'm not hugging you."

" _I'll_ hug you," Hilda assured her husband as Jet set her down.

"Look at all the pockets," Jet marveled, and then, remembering, he started digging around in his jeans' pockets. "Here, I guess I'll give them to you now." He pulled out two small boxes, wrapped in newspaper, and gave one each to Hilda and Albert. "Merry Christmas."

"You didn't have to."

"Neither did you. Look, I gotta go or I won't make next month's rent. See you tomorrow."

"Be careful!" Albert snapped as Jet vanished out the front door into the snow.

Hilda locked the door behind him and moved back into the kitchen, shaking the small box. "It's light. Should we open them…" she didn't finish her question as Albert tore the newspaper off his own gift. "Patient much?"

"Not at all." He popped open the box and pulled out his gift: a bobble Hula-girl, presumably for the dashboard of his truck. "Oh wow," he laughed, "that's tacky."

Hilda chuckled. "Well, you need something to amuse you on long drives." She opened her own box and found only a slip of paper bearing Jet's atrocious handwriting.

Albert leaned over, "What is that?" She held it up for him to see.

 _hint #2 mom liked history_

"I don't get it."

Hilda only laughed.

* * *

New Years was a quiet affair for the Heinrichs, though Jet vanished for three days. They were both watching television in the front room when he stumbled in the door, wrapped in his now favorite coat with his eyes clenched shut and muttering to himself. He saw them both and waved.

"Happy New Year," he muttered, then proceeded to shuffle toward the stairs.

Albert frowned. "Are you…?"

"No drugs," Jet said, hands in the air, "just really, _really_ hung over."

Smirking, Albert yelled, "Is that so?" as loud as he could as Jet passed.

"Aah, god _why_? You suck…" Jet moaned as he left.

"Jet?" Hilda called.

He poked his head around the corner and stared at her blearily. "What?"

"Julius?"

He blinked, "Noooo…" and vanished again. The Heinrichs could hear him cursing out the evil invention that was stairs as he made his way upwards.

* * *

It was a cold night with the lights turned down low and little noise, save for the beeping and silly tunes of Jet's Sega. Hilda reclined on the couch in the front room reading, Jet sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, engrossed in his game. Albert was in the kitchen, pulling together various leftovers to make a proper dinner.

Hilda shifted. The book wasn't very interesting. The historical setting gave it potential but the author spent more time on the protagonist's generic self-drama than taking advantage of it. If the book didn't get any better by the next chapter she was going to give up and join Jet and his video game. A name caught her eye and she shrugged; might as well.

"Justinian," she said, not looking up from her book.

"What?" Jet asked.

Her head snapped up from her book and she stared. That was a response, and Jet realized it too as he froze. Hilda tossed her book aside, forgotten, and leaned forward on the coffee table.

"Your name is _Justinian_?"

"Goddamnit!" Jet threw his controller down and crossed his arms over his chest in a pout.

Hilda slid forward across the coffee table and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him back into a forced hug. "That's _gorgeous_!"

"No it's not I fucking hate it!"

"What's going on?" Albert stuck his head around the corner.

"Jet's name is Justinian!" Hilda cried in delight.

"No, damnit! Augh, I'm moving out," Jet sulked.

"It's snowing again," Albert informed him.

"I'm trapped!"

"Oh come on," Hilda laughed, giving him one last hug before she let him go, "you know I won't call you that. You're still Jet."

"Damn straight. And don't you _dare_ tell anyone!"

"Who would we tell?" Albert said, throwing his arms up in exasperation before going back into the kitchen where it was safe.

Jet continued to sulk. Hilda tried her best to keep her giggling quiet but it wasn't just the adorable level of majesty that accompanied the name that wasn't Jet at all, but the fact that she'd won the game. She reached over and poked Jet.

"Hey, how about we forget the whole thing?"

"Too late now."

"Come on, I'll play a game with you?"

He was trying very hard to glower, but playing video games alone was only fun for so long. He lifted his nose in the air, the image of pride. "You can play Tails. We'll race, I pick the level."

"Alright," Hilda said, sitting down on the floor beside him and accepting a controller.

In the kitchen, Albert was dicing vegetables to freshen up the pasta from two nights ago. The game was finally over and there would be peace again. Until Jet brought home something else weird and stupid. Still, he couldn't quite disperse the terrible knowledge he'd just learned.

"Justinian?" he muttered, incredulous, and shook his head.


	3. Running From Relatives

"So Otto's dropping by?"

"Yes, he had some business in Boston. It'll be nice to see him."

"If you say so," Albert grumbled, stirring his oatmeal petulantly.

Hilda sighed in annoyance. "I know you don't like his attitude, believe me he gets on my nerves too, but he was genuinely trying to help you back then. There's no need to vilify him for that."

Albert said nothing and put a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. Jet, reading at the table beside him, closed his book and set it aside.

"Well that's not helping any," he muttered. Albert glanced at the title: _German in 10 Minutes a Day_.

"I don't think it works like that," he said in English. He sometimes felt a little guilty that Jet was left out of the conversation when Albert and Hilda spoke in their native language, but on the other hand this was their house and they were German. Jet never whined about it too much unless he felt he was being purposefully ignored.

"Yeah, yeah. So what's up, you sound pissed off."

"Hilda's brother Otto is stopping for a visit," Albert said, voice low as though Hilda couldn't hear him.

"Don't like him much, huh?"

"He's a damned _Wessis_ who's always looked down on us because we were on the wrong side of the Wall, to his thinking."

"You're speaking English and I still have no idea what you're talking about."

"When Germany reunified Albert lost his job," Hilda explained, setting a bowl of oatmeal in front of Jet before sitting down with her own, "Otto offered him a place at his business in West Berlin."

"He's an arrogant ass and I refused to work under him," Albert snapped.

Hilda rolled her eyes at Albert's ire. "We decided it was best to start over somewhere else and came here."

"Well I ain't dealin' with relatives," Jet said, "so don't be surprised if I disappear for a few days. Jay says he's got a project for me anyways so I'll be busy."

"Too bad," Albert sighed, "I wanted to sic you on him if he got annoying."

Hilda's arm rose as though she intended to slap Albert upside the head but then paused as she reconsidered. "Actually that's not a bad idea…"

Jet laughed, "Okay, I'll try not to be too long. When's he comin?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. It was short notice."

"Oh god," Hilda gasped, dropping her spoon, "This place is a mess." She stood up, grabbed her dishes, and dumped them into the sink before hurrying out of the kitchen.

"Hilda. Hilda! There she goes, bit by the cleaning bug." Albert glanced at Jet, "You might want to get out of here while you can. It's too late for me, but you can still save yourself."

"Yeah." Jet shoveled up what was left of his breakfast before rinsing his bowl out in the sink. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and opened the back door. "I'll see you later. Don't let him touch my Sega."

"I'll do my best," Albert said with an eye-roll. Nobody wanted to play his silly video games but Jet was convinced otherwise. "Be careful."

"Yep." Jet shut the door behind him and vanished from view.

Left alone, Albert ate in silence, save for the sound of the vacuum cleaner already running upstairs.


End file.
